Time to Think
by Cobwebbs
Summary: He knew it had been a stupid move. Which, now that he thought about it, was kind of funny. He was dubbed the smart Robin, the brilliant one in fact. His mental abilities almost rivaled with the Batmans. So why? Why the hell did he forget to think and fall for such an idiotic and simple trap; And god, was it simple.


**I know I'm in the middle of writing Cats Instead of Bats, but this weird and kinda depressing one shot wouldn't leave me. I don't know if it's any good and I most certainly don't know where it came from but um . . . I hope you like it?**

 **Let me know what you think if you manage to finish it . ..**

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He knew it had been a stupid move.

Which, now that he thought about it, was kind of funny. He was dubbed the smart Robin, the brilliant one in fact. His mental abilities almost rivaled with the Batman's. So _why_? Why the hell did he forget to think and fall for such an idiotic and simple trap; And god, _was_ it simple.

 _Literally a hole in the ground._

Tim let out a dry sigh as he let his head fall back against the hard rocky wall that stretched around him in a tight circle. He'd been here for half an hour. Thirty minutes. One thousand eight hundred seconds.

In other words. A _really_ long time to be trapped in a deep dark hole.

How he got here? Well, that was an interesting set of thoughts to go through.

He'd been called in from one of his missions with the Titans by _Robin_ , no less, and the kid had freaked him out. One: He called Tim! The guy whos guts he didn't particularly like. Two: The kid had been _fighting_ hysteria.

Bruce was _gone_. He'd been gone for ten days actually. Tim was almost offended because it took them _so_ long to tell him. But then he should have sensed something was wrong when Batman hadn't checked in like usual. He'd stupidly brushed it off as Bruce deciding to let Tim continue working with the Teen Titans without a chaperone.

 _Yah. Stupid thoughts._

Batman would _never_ do that.

By the time Tim had reached Gotham, everyone else had been called in. According to Alfred, Bruce Wayne had gone on a cruise with some fellow rich jerks and the boat had been captured by pirates. _Why not_? _Weirder things have happened_. The coast guard had only found the battered hull of the cruise ship a few day after it set sail, off the coast of the Bahamas.

According to expecting locals, the ship never made it.

That was the outside story.

Alfred said Bruce had been after a drug ring that dealt with supernatural contents, _whatever that was_ , and this trip was his cover. Alfred had verbally kept contact with Batman for three days after the' pirate attack' the _Master_ was doing fine, according to him.

Then, the connection severed.

Alfred didn't worry at first, thinking Bruce had something hot now. But after a few more days passed with no word, concern was starting to seep in. Nearly two week later, and knowing Bruce could very well have died. W _hy not? He'd done it before_. That's when Damian started a frantic search. The only thing that kept the kid from swimming across the ocean on his own was Alfred's insisting he wait for the others.

So that's how Red Robin, Nightwing, Red Hood, Batgirl, and Robin had ended up on a boat heading towards the vacation islands.

The trip had been tense and near unbearable. Everyone snapped at everything and Damian nearly jumped off once.

 _Gosh they were such a wreck._

The boat landed, er, _crashed_ , courtesy of Jason, on the shore and they set out to look and find things out anyway they knew how.

 _Nothing came of it._

Turned out, Al Ghul was the supernatural dealer, throw in Banes venom and you have one sick concoction. The freak was using it to test on his men to make _ultimate_ _warriors_.

They finally got a lead that made them all split up. Tim had taken the spacious caves next to one of the crystal clean coasts. He'd chased one of Al Ghuls men, excited that he finally had a lead.

He was running on three hours sleep, five canteens of coffee, two chocolate bars and a pack of gum. His head was light, his body sore and his thought unorganized.

Stupid of him to do that. Give chase without a decent straight thought in his head. But. out of all of them, Tim was the most Bruce in respect to _not_ taking care of himself.

H _e fell for the hole in the ground trick_. Than the assassin blew in the roof, only one thick rock that blocked the hole first saved Tim from being rained in by rubble and dirt.

That said, he only had about one hour of air remaining. His leg was busted, he felt a concussion, his arm was dislocated, and he was incredibly fatigued and dizzy. He couldn't think. He'd probably die here. _Yah, why not? People die in way less heroic positions than this._

He wasn't above that rule. _Nobody_ was.

 _Crap_ , he couldn't feel his lower half. Pain was numbing it, _no wait_ , he was mentally numbing himself so he wouldn't hurt. A technique Bruce had taught him years ago.

 _Bruce_ . . . his thoughts dragged on lazily. There was no point anymore anyway. He was tired. So . . . _tired_ , he couldn't get out, he knew he couldn't, the chances of someone finding him was zero to none. That was the problem with being ridiculously brilliant. You could use that brilliance to calculate all the negative outcomes of a situation.

Bruce, he wondered where Bruce was. What was he doing right now? Probably fighting his way out and stopping Al Ghul . . . if he wasn't dead already. But even if he was, somehow Batman always found a way to continue the fight. _Always_.

Tim had wanted that. To be unstoppable like him. To always push forward no matter what. He'd wanted it so much so that at one point he was _actually_ almost exactly like Batman.

His brothers, that's what they called themselves, had knocked him out of that phase really fast. Having them, having the Titans . . . day after day, it made Tim realize, that the way Bruce lived his internal life, wasn't all that great. Life wasn't meant to focus on nothing but darkness and revenge and whatever it was that kept Bruce going.

Life was given to use to its fullest, and few people did that. Tim wanted to do _that_ instead. But he couldn't leave being a hero . . . it was difficult. The lives they led are difficult.

Tim _knew_ that. He knew this wasn't normal. But they did it. They _all_ continued to do it. He wondered why. _Why did they all still do it_? Even if they tried to walk away . . . it always came back.

He laughed a little. His lungs burned. The dizziness was getting stronger. He wouldn't be getting out. _He knew this._

He was going to make peace with this. No use thinking about all the things he could, should, or wouldn't do, now.

No, his life hadn't been that great. But it had been full. He'd had his parents longer than any Robin had. Excluding Damian, his died and came back more than once. . .

He had an IQ higher than almost everyone he knew. He had a lot of potential to gave to the world as a normal person, not as Red Robin.

And now he'd die. Because he was _stupid_ and forgot to think. _Fell down a hole._ Oh yah, that was going to look _really_ good on his tombstone.

His ribs hurt, he tried to shift, maybe he wasn't that broken yet. Maybe he could hoist himself up against the wall and-

A horrific sharp pain shot up his spine.

Tim nearly screamed. His lips shut tight over his teeth, _don't scream, you don't have enough air to scream_. How many minutes did he have left? He couldn't tell. Maybe it would have been better off if he'd been crushed instantly and died. This slow, suffocating, painful death was much, _much_ worse.

 _God_ , he'd miss them. _No_ , he wouldn't. How could he? People don't miss people when they die. Only the living missed the dead. Not the other way around. Pain tingled up his leg, the numbness was wearing off as his brain was wearing down.

But _would_ they miss him? _Sure, Tim, they would, but it doesn't matter, because you won't miss them. They'll suffer, but you won't, you'll be fine, you'll be gone. Nothing to worry about ever again. Unless your brought back to life by some horrific way._

He did _not_ want that to happen. He'd seen what it had done to Jason for a while. The terrible things it had done to Jason.

Damian hadn't suffered that much, the little brat got out easy. But Tim feared. He was afraid he wouldn't.

 _Jeez, you couldn't even die in peace anymore_. His gut twisted, sending shocks through his entire nervous system. Definitely damaged more than he thought. He couldn't sigh, each small breath was labored and slow. He needed more air, he needed space.

The rocky, sharp walls were stabbing at his heavy back, they were closing in, the dizziness was worse. The earth was spinning much too fast for him to keep straight. He needed to throw up. He couldn't move. Nothing was working in his body, his brain was shutting down ever so slowly.

 _Yah_ , he wouldn't miss them after this. _But right now_. At this moment. He missed them all fiercely. The pain of never seeing them again was real right now. It would go away in a minute, but it was _real_ now. Every breath ached, his lungs filled with more dust than actual air. He couldn't cough, that would puncture a lung for sure.

Dick and his stupid jokes, warm smiles, loving comfort. The only one out of all of them that adopted the 'big brother' role so effortlessly. His joy that never seemed to fade, was ridiculously contagious, even when Tim didn't want it to be. But somehow, no matter the mistakes or traumas, Dick always managed to pull through for them.

Jason with his violent tendencies, unexpected understanding, and crude humor. The brother who had suffered so much to get where he was right now. So much, not even Tim could comprehend, but he'd let Tim reach out to him. Even if it took a while, they reached and he could be considered the closest thing Tim had to a best friend.

Damian, god, he couldn't believe he missed even the little spawn. The annoying stuck up little brat that thought he owned everything he wanted and tried to kill him multiple times. Tim almost snorted in amusement, it was all because he was afraid of not gaining a place next to his father. Back than, Tim just thought he was crazy. Eventually though, the boy had grown on him and he got older and began to see, it really wasn't the kids fault and besides, Damian had learned to respect him, begrudgingly, but it was there.

Tim felt a foreign substance pick his burning eyes behind his mask as he thought of Alfred and how the man would go through everything for them and at the end of the day make sure they ate and slept and had at least some kind of normalcy in their crazy lives. That man was sent from heaven, that was all there was to it. How else could someone deal with Bruce then all that came after for so long without snapping? Tim could hear the old mans fading voice, nagging him to eat, or sleep, or get dressed. Letting go of Alfred was like letting go of a piece of his heart.

And Bruce . . . Tim didn't want to think about Bruce anymore. He didn't want to think about how much they all loved the stubborn jerk. To what lengths they'd go to find him, to bring him home, to keep him alive. _God_ , just thinking about the idiot hurt almost worse than his actual wounds.

The big warm hand on his shoulder or head. The rare and treasured smile of amusement or acceptance. The occasional kind words that came when the man was genuinely proud of him.

The air grew thicker. His mind faded a little more. His thoughts stretched out to all his friends and family left. How he never got to tell them how much he cared about them, or how he loved having them there, or how amazing it was to get to know them.

He wouldn't see them again. He wouldn't see anything again.

 _And all because he forgot to think and fell down a stupid hole_.

When they came? Even though he _knew_ they wouldn't come. But he imagined what they'd do when they came and got him out.

Jason would poke fun and call him pathetic. Dick would laugh and say he should have watched his step. Damian would demean him while at the same time mean he was glad Drake was ok. Bruce wouldn't say anything because they hadn't found him. Maybe he'd find him, after he died . . . he was going to die. _That was it._

Alfred would. . . reprimand him for being carless while dressing his wounds . . .

Barbara. . . would . . .

 _There wasn't anymore air_.

Tim closed his eyes as he slowly faded in the dark, alone.

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. . . .

Something cracked above. He was only vaguely aware of a loud curse and rumble, something hit him on the head as the ground shook above him . . . did that even make sense? No, nothing made sense anymore, he couldn't figure out why though. Why was he suddenly trying to make sense anyway? _Wasn't he dead?_

 _Air_. There was air, pain nearly crippled him as something lifted him up, a sensation of going upwards fluttered through his aching body. He was placed an a cold hard surface.

 _Air_. There was _definitely_ air. It hurt to breath it in, but he found he could. Something bright hit his face, the darkness that was seeping through him drew back little by little, his brain sputtered to life again.

"Holy _crap_ , Kid say something. Come on Timbo, _anything_." A familiar voice grated on his mind as he felt hands run down his body.

"Hang on Jay, he's still alive. Hold on Timmy." Another voice, gentler than the first, but clearly panicked.

 _I'm not dead? I'm not_? He couldn't register the meaning completely yet. Lack of oxygen did that to ones thinking capabilities.

"Grayson! Compose yourself. We need to get him medical help. Stop bawling moron!"

 _Damian_. He could register them now.

"My god, hurry up guys, Alfred will have a heart attack if we don't hurry it up." That was good old Barbara, she was there too.

Tim wanted to open his eyes, to _talk_ to them, to _smile_ at them, to tell them how _happy_ he was that he hadn't left them yet, that he could _see_ them still. He couldn't move though.

"Hang on Kid, Hang on." Jason, _no doubt about who that voice belonged to now_. Tim wished he could move. He focused on opening his eyes as his brain came back full force.

The mixed scent of leather and smoke floated over him as Jason lifted the injured boy up.

Tim's eyes finally fluttered open catching everyone's attention.

"Timmy! _God_ you scared us." Dick came over smiling weakly to help Jason lift the broken body of their brother.

"Good, Drake isn't dead, now we can resume our mission." Damian snapped and turned his face away before anyone could see the relief on it.

Barbara kissed his forehead gently, "Let's get him out of here."

Life was one strange place. Nearly dying was even stranger. Tim was sure once he woke up again he'd be in a hospital like area and would have forgotten the experience like human beings tend to do.

But for now he knew, these people, no matter what happened, they were there for him, with him. That's all that counted really.

Not how smart he was. Or how capable he was. Or how Batman like he was.

All that mattered was he had people that loved him. No matter what he did or accomplished.

"Do this again and I'll shoot you. _Got it_."

"Sure Jay, sure." A small smile graced the bruised face as he drifted off into a less terrifying darkness.

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 **Ok so it turned out kinda fluffy at the end there, but that's ok! I have a really hard time writing Tim . . . this was practice I guess. Please tell me I did him ok?**

 **I really need a confidence boost in the Tim department.**

 **Anyway, I hope ya'll like it!**

 **Let me know your thoughts, since I don't have telepathic powers . . . sadly.**


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